To Love a Rogue
by zanessatroyellafangirl
Summary: Renesmee Cullen has it all. She is beautiful, wealthy, and engaged to one of the finest lords in all of London. But when she meets his mysterious servant with gypsy skin, she can't help but be intrigued. And when he steals a kiss from her one night, it all suddenly changes. It is no longer a fancy wedding to Lord Hawkins she yearns for...
1. Prologue

**__thought you guys may want the prologue a little early. Kinda like a sneak preview in a way. **

* * *

**_Prologue_**

A cry rang out in the bedchamber, signifying the beginning of a new, young life.

Mary Alice Brandon, or simply known as Alice, watched as the midwife took the crying infant.

"There, Bella," she said to her friend. "Look at that. A beautiful, baby girl. Just as I said."

Isabella Swan, simply known as Bella, smiled weakly. "May I hold her?"

The midwife hurriedly wiped the baby girl dry and handed her to the glowing mother in a fluffy blanket.  
Then she left with her two assistants, leaving them to privacy.

"Oh, she's perfect," Bella whispered almost to herself. The baby had ceased to cry, but her slumber required silence.

"How precious," Alice agreed.

"She has his face," Bella said adoringly.

At that moment, the door opened and a tall, lean man came into the room, his green eyes twinkling with excitement at the sight of the bundle in Bella's arms.

"Is that her?" he asked as he approached the bed.

"Oh, Edward," Alice squealed, giving him a hug. "You have a little girl."

"A girl?" Edward sat next to his wife, an overjoyed grin on his face. "I have a daughter?"

Bella held the infant up to give her husband a better look. "She looks just like you."

"But as every bit as beautiful as her mother," Edward managed to say. He suddenly leaned in to kiss his little girl on the forehead. She stirred slightly and her eyes opened.

"Oh, look, Bella," Alice pointed out. "She has _your _eyes._"_

Indeed the girl's eyes were chocolate brown, just as the pair gazing down at her in a motherly way.

"They're beautiful," Edward uttered with pride.

"I must go and tell the others," Alice said, heading towards the door.

But just as she reached the door, she spun around again to face Bella. "I almost forgot! They'll want a name, Bella. What should I tell them?"

Bella smiled. She had been planning this for a long time.

"Renesmee Carlie Cullen," she answered promptly. "Her name is Renesmee Carlie Cullen."

Alice raised her eyebrows at this unusual name but she asked no questions as she practically danced out of the room.

"Renesmee?" Edward repeated.

Bella nodded. "It's a combination of your mother's name with mine. I know its a little strange, but..."

"No," Edward said. "It's absolutely perfect. It's one of a kind." He smiled down at his daughter. "Just like her."

The rest of the week was filled with guests filing in one by one to welcome a newcomer into the Cullen family. Women cooed over her weensy fingers and toes, gushing over her precious, brown eyes. The men hung back, congratulating Edward and wishing him luck on his new road to fatherhood.

Gifts were common for the new parents, blankets and dolls and rattles to entertain the infant. Bella and Edward appreciated them all the same but one gift stood out above all the rest.

It was gift sent by the new Grandfather Charles, who was practically beaming with pride as he opened the box.

Inside was a little heart-shaped pendant, gold and spectacular against the white velvet casing. But the most splendid was what was on the pendant.

Inscribed onto it was a single name.

_Renesmee._

*.*.*.*.*

A maid came running in and curtsied when she entered the nursery.

Jacob Black looked up at the anxious maid and eyed his young master, Nathan Hawkins, wondering when the boy would acknowledge the girl. He knew she couldn't speak unless spoken to but Jake had a feeling she was in a hurry.

Unfortunately, at the moment, Nathan was busy focusing on his chessboard. Jacob wanted to roll his eyes. He had made it so easy for the young master to win but he was too daft to realize it.

Suddenly Nathan's eyes lit up as he picked up a piece and slammed it into place.

"Checkmate!" he shouted with glee.

Jacob decided not to point out that he could've called it five moves ago. He eyed the maid pointedly until Nathan turned his head.

"What?" he said, annoyed.

The maid curtsied again. "Your father requests your presence, Young Master. He said you are to come right away."

Nathan groaned, glancing at the chessboard longingly.

"We can play again when you come back," Jacob promised. He really didn't want to "lose" another game but he knew that was what exactly what Nathan wanted. And Jacob, as Nathan's companion, did exactly that.

Nathan's eyes brightened and he obediently made his way to his father's private study.

Jacob was still sitting on the floor and rearranging the chess pieces when Nathan flew in just a few minutes later. Jacob was quick to note the wary expression on the young master's face.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Knowing Nathan, it was probably trivial but Jacob made himself seemed concerned.

Nathan's reply was to thrust something at Jacob. "That."

Jacob held it in his hands gently and found that it was a small picture frame. Inside was a little portrait of a baby.

"Who is that?" Jacob asked, handing it back.

Nathan grumbled. "My betrothed." He threw it onto the floor. "You can have it. I don't want it."

Jacob picked it up. Although he was in a class far inferior to the young master's, he and his family had worked for the Hawkins long enough to know the customs, including betrothals.

But from the looks of the portrait...hmmm...Jacob couldn't be sure. He knew all babies look adorable and pretty but he had a feeling this particular one would grow up to be quite an attractive one.

Especially those eyes. They were brown just like Jacob's, but hers were lighter, warmer, and more innocent. That was to be expected. She was only a baby after all.

Jacob turned the ornate frame in his hand, wondering how he could open it. His young master may not want the portrait but he had a feeling the pure gold frame would be sorely missed.

Then on the bottom right corner on the back of the frame, he saw a scribbling in gold. On closer inspection, he found that it wasn't gibberish.

It was a name.

_Renesmee Carlie Cullen_


	2. Seventeen Years Later

**_Chapter 1  
_**

"Renesmee, darling."

A young heiress of seventeen inwardly groaned when she heard that all too familiar voice.

Ugh, that nasal pitch. That insipid tone of voice.

"Catherine!" Renesmee greeted with an false smile. "How wonderful to see you."

The two "friends" hugged each other, both trying to make as little physical contact as possible. Though Catherine also had a bright smile on her face, the malice in her eyes spoke just as clear.

Renesmee, however, pretended not to notice.

Renesmee Cullen knew it was important to appear friendly and enthusiastic at times such as this. But really, when one was the daughter of the Duke of Yorkshire, these balls were as common as breadcrumbs. Not to mention always repeating the same, dull sequence. Dance, talk, dance, talk, and occasionally smile and pretend to be oh so overjoyed when seeing a person one would rather curse to Hell. And with Catherine Newton always stepping on others' toes with an air of arrogance and pretense for no reason at all, it was rather hard to show her any compassion or understanding.

And really, with Renesmee's stature, she could afford a few tsks and glares. She received them copiously as it was, seeing that not only was she the daughter of a Duke but the prettiest at that.

Renesmee wondered if those girls knew that green eyes only made them uglier.

"I was so delighted to receive your invite," Catherine gushed. "I was a little shocked when the maid read it to my father. The invitation didn't look like yours at all. 'Twas rather...plain." She gave Renesmee a smug smile. "I guess when one faces financial hardships, one must be thrifty."

Renesmee smirked. "Nobody knows more about being thrifty than you, Catherine. Judging by your appearance, I'm sure you have great knowledge on being _cheap_."

Renesmee could see Catherine's jaw clenching as the girl tried to control her temper.

"What a guest list," Catherine changed the subject. Her eyes scanned the crowd, as if she was interested in the faces she saw. "No doubt His Grace is hoping to find his only daughter a worthy husband." She shook her head pitifully. "'Tis bothersome but how else will you get the chance to meet a potential spouse?"

"Perhaps you should throw a party of your own one day, Catherine," Renesmee suggested innocently. "I am sure your father would be eager to sell you to erase his gaming debts."

Catherine gasped at this outright insult.

But what could she say?

Renesmee was a _Cullen_, after all.

The girl wisely excused herself to another group, no doubt to gossip and flirt like the little tart she was.

But as Renesmee glanced around the ballroom, she couldn't help but notice how close Catherine was to the truth. Now that she thought about it, most of these guests _were _accompanied by men, whether their father, brother, son, or nephew.

Hmph. Well, these men could try. But she had standards.

"There you are, Renesmee."

Renesmee smiled, this one authentic.

"Claire," she greeted, hugging a real friend this time. "So glad you could come."

Claire winked. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." She patted her black hair, which at the moment was spun into an elegant updo embedded with pearls. "Hope I prepared enough. This is, after all, one of the biggest social events of the season."

Renesmee rolled her eyes. "You're just as bored as I am."

This much was true. Claire Young was one of Renesmee's dearest friends. Dark as Renesmee was fair, Claire was also considered beautiful for her age, but she rarely enjoyed the attention and social gatherings herself...unless there was a man present. Then it was fair game.

"Just be merry and it will be over before you know it," Claire advised, grabbing a glass of sherry herself. "And, from the looks of things, you shouldn't have a problem." She eyed a young man with a pointed glance.

"Oh, Claire, you know me so well," Renesmee replied sarcastically.

Claire shrugged. "Do it while you're young. And you're not the only one, sweetheart."

Renesmee looked at Claire with surprise. "Don't tell me your father is already shipping you off to some rake."

"Not yet," Claire sighed. "But enough about me. There has to be _someone _here that catches your interest."

Renesmee made a face. "If you can bring forth a single man that holds my interest for even a second, _that _itself will be a miracle."

Claire shook her head. "What will your poor father do?"

"Knowing him, he already has somebody in mind," Renesmee replied.

Claire nodded. "A man from a long line of nobility and a large inheritance to boot." She shrugged. "At least then you'll _stay_."

Renesmee smirked. "We'll see."

Claire giggled. "I just saw Miss Newton and her dear mother over there. And by the looks of things, they're not too happy to be here."

"I was just informing Catherine of the gossip circulating about her father," Renesmee giggled. "No doubt, that is whats irking her."

Claire bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "Oh, Renesmee! You're simply awful!"

The two girls tittered behind their fans.

"And I simply love your dress," Claire commented when they've calmed down. "Mama commented on it when we saw you as we entered. Blue suits you well."

"Does it?" Renesmee asked, inspecting herself. "I think it makes me look...peaky. And its not particularly a style I like."

"I never said you did," Claire pointed out. "It is not only men you're picky about."

Renesmee laughed. "My dear Claire. You _do _know me."

Just then the presence of another was announced. Though most were too into the festivities to pay any particular attention, those near the door did at least have a look.

Renesmee and Claire included.

"Oh, Renesmee!" Claire whispered excitedly. "'Tis Lord Hawkins and his son, Nathaniel!"

Indeed, next to the round, portly man dressed in a rather unflattering pale blue evening suit, was a tall, young man in his early twenties. Though he was much younger and his face rather skinnier, he was easy to recognize next to his father.

Nathaniel Hawkins II was the son of one of the most prestigious lords in all of London. Not only did his family uphold one of the highest esteems of honor (there were few scandals that tainted the Hawkins name), Nathaniel, with his black eyes and wavy, brown locks, made every proper English lady secretly swoon in his presence. Though he rarely talked, nobody would label him as "rude" or "reclusive." He was simply "shy" and "polite."

It almost made Renesmee laugh how these people fawned over the man. But even she had to admit, she had found no faults.

At least, not yet anyway.

Though Claire was squealing excitedly next to her, Renesmee could already feel the boredom seeping in. She amused herself by watching a rather fat old rake try to woo a young girl with exaggerated stories of his youth. From the looks on the girl's face, he was doing rather the opposite of what he had hoped.

"Oh, Renesmee!" Claire squealed. "He is coming this way!"

That caught Renesmee's attention, though she hardly showed it. "What was that?"

"Nathaniel Hawkins!" Claire repeated with urgency. "Coming. This. Way."

"Miss Cullen," a firm, polite tone greeted. Renesmee turned just in time to see the young man lower himself into a bow. He did the same to Claire. "Miss Young."

Renesmee and Claire, in turn, both gave slight curtsies.

"Mr. Hawkins," Renesmee greeted with a polite smile.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Mr. Hawkins said. "Our carriage was delayed upon our departure."

"Then I am even more pleased you could come, Mr. Hawkins," Renesmee replied politely. "But please, do not feel as though you must put yourself in danger to attend a silly party."

"'Twas nothing of importance," Mr. Hawkins admitted. "If the Duke of Yorkshire was kind enough to grace us with an invitation, then how could my family refuse?"

Renesmee had to admit, this man knew how to charm and flatter.

Suddenly, the music changed from a waltz to that of a polonaise. Many older couples freed the dance floor for the more youthful couplets, though Renesmee noticed the young girl from earlier only stared with faces of longing.

Renesmee was wondering if a young man would be kind enough to rescue to the poor dear when she was interrupted.

"Miss Cullen," she heard Mr. Hawkins say next to her. "Would you care to dance?"

Renesmee looked down at the hand held out to her, well aware of Claire's excited breathing next to her.

Feigning shock, Renesmee graciously accepted the hand like a shy babe who knew nothing.

"I apologize in advance, Mr. Hawkins," she said demurely. ", if I may injure your toes in anyway."

As the couple made their way to the dance floor, Renesmee secretly gloated at the secretive glances of resignation and envy cast her way. Though it wasn't the first time, there was something about those green eyes that suddenly made the ballroom all the more dazzling.

As she danced the polonaise with Mr. Hawkins, Renesmee's nimble feet flew across the dance floor as they executed the steps with expertise. As she knew they would. But she made sure to grip Mr. Hawkin's hand slightly tighter as if wanting reassurance and security. Mr. Hawkins beamed at her progress, believing it to be done on his part.

This was Renesmee's life - poised, refined.

And as easy as the polonaise steps she knew so well.

*.*.*.*.*

Jacob Black smiled gratefully as the maid filled up his plate a third time.

"Thank you, Sarah," he said before digging into the chicken scraps.

While the rich and wealthy enjoyed themselves in the main parts of the house, Jacob had joined the servants in the lower parts of the mansion. As a mere driver, Jacob could hardly dare to hope to join the finer frays of society. But honestly, even if he had a choice, he'd would give this up for anything. The servants, though wary of the unfamiliar coach driver at first, had welcomed him before long. With that came the most thrilling stories, the most jeering gossip, and enough rich food to satisfy him without the constipation.

"What did you say your name again was?" Sarah asked with a smile.

Jacob grinned in return, knowing full well her intentions. "Now, Sarah, you know I hate repeating myself."

Sarah pouted.

"Now don't yeh frown on that pretty face, Sarah," a footman named Riley spoke up. "Now, Jacob, why don't yeh tell us folks about yeh? Can't hurt to know where yeh come from." He eyed Jacob's face with interest. "He got soulful eyes, this one."

Soulful eyes. Jacob's eyes were dark brown, and though he had heard they were kind, he'd never say they were "soulful"...whatever that meant.

But Jacob knew he had no choice but to tell his story. Though accepted, he was still a newcomer, and one of the youngest to boot. And these people had their own rules of respect.

"Not much to tell," he said honestly. "I was originally hired to be a companion for the Hawkins' son-"

"Been spending too much time with them better folks before you became a driver," Sarah harumphed."

Another coach driver, an old Scot by the name of Barney, guffawed at this notion. "Lucky you, boy. My masters had me on the seat and tightening the reigns before I could swipe me own arse!"

The men roared with laughter at this comment while Sarah scolded him with a smack of a towel.

"That ain't no way to talk in presence of a lady, Old Barnes!" she laughed.

"You drive for them Hawkins now, don't you, boy?" Old Barnes asked him.

Jacob nodded.

"And you say you used to be a companion for the little Hawkins," Old Barnes repeated. "What's his name? Nathaniel?"

"Now you leave the boy alone!" Sarah shouted. "He needs to eat!"

"Them chicken scraps ain't gonna make him hot for you, Sarah!" another maid named Genevieve sang as she came down the stairs. "Might as well let them talk."

"Aye, 'tis Nathaniel," Old Barnes said. "I even hear my masters talk about him and that old man of his, the lord himself. From the looks of him, me master's hoping to get his youngest daughter to marry the lad."

Jacob shook his head, and without thinking, he blurted out, "That's too bad. Master Hawkins is betrothed."

Suddenly all movement stopped and eyes turned to Jacob in interest.

Old Barnes raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling.

"What did you say, boy?" he asked in hush tones. "Betrothed, you say."

Jacob was suddenly aware of just how interested these people were in the gossip.

But Jacob wasn't so sure if he should blurt this out. This was supposed to be a family matter, after all. As one who had lost a mother at a young age and had hated people poking into her death, Jacob understood the need to keep some family histories and secrets just that...a secret.

However, that was how it was with these people. As they could afford no luxuries themselves, they entertained with the scandals and jeers of others. And as one of the most talked about lords in all of London, the Hawkins could hardly hope to be spared.

Not that they'd notice.

Eh, why not?

"Master Hawkins has been betrothed since the lady was born," Jacob recited. "Arranged by the parents, I think."

"Always is," Riley acknowledged. "So who's the lucky lady?"

Jacob racked his head, trying to remember. "It was an...unusual name. Rather a mouthful, actually."

"Try and remember, boy," Old Barnes urged.

Jacob chewed his piece of chicken slowly. "It was...Renee? No...Ren...Ren...Renesmee! That was it. Renesmee Cullen."

Sarah's jaw dropped. "Not the very Cullen of this house. You're pulling me leg!"

Jacob shook his head. That was all the confirmation the others needed.

"Argh, new it was her," Old Barnes said to himself. "Makes sense. He's well beneath her, but he comes from one of the finest stock there is."

The rest murmured their agreement, and the subject quickly changed to complaints of the exclusivity of the upper class their right to snub those who were residing in the very kitchen.

Jacob, however, didn't comment or join in the merry conversations. He excused himself by eating the food vigorously, his polite way of telling others to not speak with him. Luckily, it worked for Jacob knew if pressed he may end up revealing the private conversations he had overheard only recently between his masters.

The ball that was currently taking place today was not for fun and games, though that was the excuse. No, the reasons were far greater, though he doubted even the young lady of the house would know.

Tonight was the night Young Master Hawkins would meet his betrothed, the Young Lady Renesmee, daughter of Duke of Yorkshire.

Jacob was curious as to what the girl would look like. He had heard tales about her beauty, her wealth, and her notorious ways of reminding everyone she was of better quality. But no matter what Jacob heard, one thing never changed.

He still recalled the day when he had been eight years old, letting the young master beat him at chess. That was the boy first laid eyes on the lady Renesmee...at least, a picture of her. Jacob still remembered the reluctance in young Nathaniel's eyes, his grumbling, how he had just tossed the portrait to Jacob without a second glance.

Jacob still had the frame and the little portrait within it. Though it was now covered with grime and dust, the little babe in the portrait still peeked at him with the same innocence in her eyes.

Her wide, chocolate brown eyes.

Jacob would never forget those eyes, and would never stop wondering if they still held some of that innocence. He doubted it, but that never stopped him from wondering.

But his hopes of ever getting close enough to the young lady to confirm for himself were second to none. His master himself was below that of the Duke's household, and Jacob was well below both of them. He would have to content himself with that portrait, wondering, always wondering.

So was the life of the servants.

Wondering...always wondering...


	3. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2  
_**

Renesmee woke up, lifting her head from the soft pillow with a yawn. Sunlight peeked through the curtains, warming her face.

She picked up the small silver bell next to her and rang it once.

A maid instantly came in with a small curtsy and a breakfast tray. Renesmee was delighted to see it was her favorite: eggs and ham.

"Good morning, miss," she said, placing the tray in front of Renesmee. "Your mother suggested you eat breakfast in bed this morning. Said you might be tired after the ball last night."

Renesmee picked up her knife and fork, reminding herself to thank the mother later.

"And you have a guest arriving before noon today," the maid told her. "And His Grace has made it clear that he wants you to look especially presentable when they arrive."

"My father will have nothing to worry about," she finally replied. "Anything else?"

The maid shook her head.

Renesmee waved her hand dismissively. "Then you may go. I'll call when I am ready to be dressed."

The maid gave a small curtsy before heading out of the bedchamber.

Renesmee chewed her food slowly, thinking over her father's message. _Especially_ presentable, he had said. What could it mean? And why was it so important?

She just shrugged and went back to her eggs. She always looked presentable. Why would today be any different?

After breakfast, she rang the bell again and a slew of maids came running in promptly. One discreetly left with the breakfast tray while the others made their way to the wardrobe. They gently picked out the delicate dresses one by one, holding it up for their mistress' approval.

Though Renesmee hated to admit it, this was her favorite time of day. As the maids held up each dress, all made of the finest of silks and jewels, it further reflected the amount of wealth her family had, just how much of a right she had to be vain and proud.

But even more than that, she simply loved to be act unimpressed and disgusted with the garments in her closet. The look on the maid's faces, the expressions of utter shock and unspoken envy, just made Renesmee's heart flutter with a delicious feeling.

"What about this one, miss?" a maid asked, holding up a fourth dress. "'Tis a warm summer's day out and you'll need something light-"

"Ugh!" Renesmee rolled her eyes. "Do I still have that thing? Put away that eyesore!"

The maid hurriedly took it out of sight while another dress was presented. This faced the same treatment.

Finally, the maids came out with a dress that Renesmee found "passable." After helping her with her underclothes and tightening of the corset, they buttoned up the pearl buttons. After some moments, Renesmee finally selected a matching pair of shoes and pearls to go with the dress.

"Beautiful selection, miss," the maid assured Renesmee when the hair stylist came in.

Renesmee ignored the compliment. They were so common now, they just went in one ear and out the other.

Just as the stylist was pinning up the last coil, the door opened again. But this was no maid or footman to be ignored. By the way the maids curtsied low, Renesmee knew exactly who it was.

"Good morning, Mama," she said with a smile.

The duchess eyed Renesmee with a pleased expression. "Good morning, my dear. You look beautiful."

And Renesmee did indeed look beautiful. Isabella Swan-Cullen always swelled with pride when she saw her daughter and still couldn't believe that she had created this exquisite being in front of her.

Many assured Bella that it was Renesmee who ought to be grateful for being able to inherit from a beauty herself. But the only identical feature between them was their chocolate brown eyes, which in Bella's case, were twinkling with joy as she smiled at her daughter. Unlike most mothers of the aristocratic society, Bella didn't just see Renesmee as a pawn to more wealth and connections. Renesmee was Bella's own child and she cherished her daughter as a real mother should.

"Your father will be pleased," Bella said as the stylist finished up Renesmee's hairdo. "I expect you have heard that we have a guest coming."

"Who?" Renesmee asked.

Bella smiled at her daughter's impatience. "All in good time, my dear. I'm afraid I don't know myself. Your father refuses to tell me."

It was then Renesmee grasped the importance of their guests. Her mother, though only the duchess by title, could twist the Duke around her little finger. If he didn't even tell her, then it was news indeed.

"But if I'm not mistaken," Bella whispered. "I believe it is a prospective suitor for you."

Renesmee grumbled. "Mama..."

"I know," Bella replied. "I felt the exact same way you did when I was your age."

"But your old enough to think about these things, Renesmee," she continued. "And you won't stay young forever."

"But you and Father didn't marry until you were over twenty," Renesmee pointed out, almost in a saucy tone. "And he still loves you."

Bella tsked. "You musn't be saucy, Renesmee."

The two, mother and daughter, made their way downstairs toward the sitting room.

Renesmee's father was there as usual, finishing his breakfast. He dismissed the footman upon seeing his wife and daughter, putting down his pipe.

"Doesn't our daughter look beautiful, Edward?" Bella asked, giving her husband a kiss good morning.

"Father," Renesmee greeted.

Edward nodded approvingly before going back to his pipe. Renesmee was satisfied. She hadn't expected much from her father anyway.

But Bella wasn't having it. "Oh, Edward!"

Edward sighed with resignation before putting a smile on his face. "You look wonderful, Renesmee."

"Edward," Bella said, taking a seat next to her husband. "Don't you think its time we knew who our guest will be today?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Edward replied. "I want it to be a surprise. All in good time."

Sure enough, barely a minute had passed before the sound of knocking ran through the first floor. A footman came into the sitting room and announced the guest had arrived.

Renesmee's jaw dropped when she saw two men come in soon after. One she didn't recognize but the other she knew with no doubt.

The tall Mr. Hawkins bowed low to the duke. "Your Grace." Then to Bella, "Madame." His dark, brown hair was tied back and he was wearing a stark white ascot that accentuated his dark features.

"Why, Mr. Hawkins," Bella said, standing up. "What a delight this is."

"The pleasure is all mine, Madame," Mr. Hawkins assured her.

"Do sit down, Mr. Hawkins," Edward ordered. "Forgive me, but where is Lord Hawkins? I meant the invitation for both you and your father."

"My father sends his apologies, Your Grace," Mr. Hawkins replied. "I am afraid he has succumbed to extreme fatigue and was unable to get out of bed this morning."

"Oh my," Bella muttered. "I do hope he gets better soon."

"I will extend Madame's well wishes to my father," Mr. Hawkins said. "No doubt he will find them most touching."

"No matter," Edward said. "You're here and that's what matters."

"Edward," Bella delicately cut in. "You still haven't told us the reason for such an invitation. Surely, you didn't just ask Mr. Hawkins to come to ask him about his ailing father."

Edward put down his pipe. "Yes, well. I thought Mr. Hawkins could accompany us to Lady Forge's luncheon at Hayfield Park."

"Oh!" Bella's eyes lit up. "My, Edward, that _is _a surprise. I didn't think you enjoyed those luncheons."

"It seems by lucky chance that I have a free day ahead of me," Edward answered.

The whole time, Bella was looking at Edward's face. It was only there for a split second but she could recognize it immediately. She had seen that face once or twice.

This wasn't any "lucky chance." He had planned this from the beginning. Possibly last night or perhaps for weeks, the ball just being part of the plan.

Bella didn't know how she felt about this. She was overjoyed that her daughter would be escorted by the Hawkins' son . This was every mother's dream come true. And she hadn't always gone to the luncheons alone in the past - it would be nice to finally be accompanied by her husband.

But the fact that he didn't confer with her on this, that he had just done it himself without even informing her...

There was a slightly heavy feeling in her chest but Bella brushed it away. He had probably just forgotten to mention it or wanted to keep the luncheon as a surprise. That would be just like him.

Renesmee, on the other hand, wasn't paying much attention to her father. She had composed herself enough to be aware of how rudely she was staring, and had quickly averted her eyes to something else. By chance, they fell on the second man, standing a few paces behind Mr. Hawkins.

The first thing Renesmee was noticed was his dark skin. No doubt he was a gypsy. A gypsy in her own sitting room. She had heard tales of them, their wild customs and behaviors and their thievery. But she had also heard a few have been successfully captured and tamed into servitude. No doubt he was one of them. This gave Renesmee immense relief.

The second thing Renesmee noted was his appearance. He had been in servitude to the Hawkins' a very long time, as she could see. He had a disciplined aura about him, telling Renesmee that he certainly knew his place and what was expected. His hair was cropped short, giving Renesmee full view of his strong jawline. He looked about the same age as Mr. Hawkins, though much taller.

"Good morning, good morning!"

Everyone's attention suddenly turned to the last guest that had just arrived. A petite young woman with short, black hair came in, even before the footman's announcement.

"Alice," Edward sighed.

Renesmee's Aunt Alice laughed out loud, letting her teeth show, not even bothering to hide it politely behind the fan. She wasn't really Renesmee's aunt, more like her second cousin. But Renesmee loved her dearly and as Alice was like a sister to Edward and Bella, "Aunt" seemed an acceptable role. And with the way she callously disregarded polite rules of society around Renesmee's father gave Renesmee a slightly warm feeling.

But this a face she only showed to family. In public, Alice was just as docile and demure as a lamb, though still much of a tittering gossip than Bella.

"Well, what are we all sitting around here for?" Alice asked cheerfully. "I thought the Quakers have left already."

"Alice," Edward said again pointedly.

It was then Alice caught sight of Mr. Hawkins.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, surprise lighting her eyes. "Would you perhaps be the son of Lord Hawkins?"

Mr. Hawkins bowed low, confirming her guess.

Alice arched her eyebrow at Edward before turning back to the man. "Will you accompanying us to the luncheon, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Yes," Mr. Hawkins replied. "His Grace was kind enough to also invite my father but he is currently ailed by fatigue."

"What a shame," Alice tutted. "Lady Forge always says 'the more the merrier.' But that's no reason to just sit around here like daft geese."

The others followed Alice outside to the waiting carriages.

"Well, Edward and Bella," she said. "You two go first. The rest of us will follow shortly."

And so it was done. Bella and Edward climbed into one of their own carriage, white with the Cullen family crest embedded on the door.

"Please," Mr. Hawkins said. "Allow me to volunteer my own carriage."

"Why, how nice of you, Mr. Hawkins," Alice gushed. "Yes, that would be suitable as I used a rented one to get here. It's probably halfway to Bath by now."

The trio headed over to Mr. Hawkin's model, dark blue with the Hawkins' crest of an eagle in black.

Suddenly, the dark man from before made his presence known by opening the carriage door, unfolding the steps, then holding out his hand for assistance. Alice smiled appreciatively before she climbed in. Nathaniel followed.

Renesmee was about to step in herself. She reached her hand out to take hold of the hand...

...then slipped on the carriage steps.

There were shouts of alarm as Renesmee fell, her body involuntarily twisting to the side, as if that would make a lesser impact when she hit the ground.

But the impact never came.

It took Renesmee a few seconds to realize why.

Mr. Hawkins' servant had caught her.

Renesmee could feel her face turning red with humiliation. How could this happen? And right in front of Mr. Hawkins! Renesmee had never lost her poise before and certainly not in front of a _man_!

"Let go of me!" Renesmee shrieked.

The servant, perhaps taken aback by surprise, almost dropped her but managed to place her on her two feet.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Renesmee glared at him. "Yes, thank you."

Her tone of voice was far from sincere but if the servant noticed, he didn't mention it.

But as she made her way into the carriage again, she couldn't help but notice his eyes on her. She turned to him to shout, to order him to look away...only to find him glaring at her with utter hatred.

The coldness in his gaze sent a shot of fear up her spine.

She quickly averted her eyes.

*.*.*.*.*

Jacob really hadn't expected much.

But that still didn't stop him from getting angry.

What was that for, anyway? There was no need to get cold with him! He had done her a favor for God's sakes! If he hadn't been there to catch her, she would've cracked her head on the gravel.

And what was _she_ glaring at him for? Was it his fault she had clumsy feet?

But Jacob made no mention as he set her down. It took all he had to just step back, the bitter words clamped in his mouth.

The tight feeling in his chest began to grow. In fact, the more Jacob looked at the girl, the more angrier he got.

As she took a step, Jacob _willed _her to fall again. And he wouldn't catch her this time. That would show her, the little brat.

But duty forced him to keep still, but that didn't turn his face stoic.

Sure enough, when the girl saw him, she took a sharp intake of breath. Jacob could almost see his angry face reflected in her brown eyes.

He almost expected her to scream again, shriek at his impudence, how _dare _he look at her with such scorn?

But none came. She just looked away with a dignified expression and stepped into the carriage. Jacob somehow managed to wait until she sat down before closing the door. What he wouldn't have given to have the door hit her backside!

Jacob hurriedly went to the front and climbed onto the driver's seat. He let out his whistle and the horses obeyed immediately.

The steady clip-clop of the horses managed to calm him down to the level of rational thinking, at least. What he wouldn't have given to be able to jump down from his seat and ride one of the horses towards the horizon. He could use a good gallop right now.

Was that girl _really _the same person as the one in the portrait? He hadn't gotten a good look at her eyes, though they were indeed chocolate brown. Still, the irony made him laugh. To think, just last night, he was hoping to see that same loving innocence in her eyes...and instead was met with scorn and bitterness.

Not to mention two-faced.

Who did the girl think she was fooling? Who did _any_ of these girls think they were fooling, really? What were these rich girls playing at anyway, pretending to know nothing and just sit there one second, while gambling and gossiping when the menfolk weren't around? And these men actually thought they were _controlling _these women.

None of these namby-pamby boys knew what they were doing. Jacob had seen it happen more than once, when a master thought he was making the decision when it was really his women's flatter and honey that did the job.

These rich folks with their money...they had no idea what being a human being really meant.

And when Master Hawkins married that...that...well, Jacob felt instant pity for the poor man.

He was so young.

Jacob chuckled to himself as he flicked the reigns.

He didn't know why he had to care.

Just as long as _he _didn't have to deal with her.

* * *

**riiiight...we'll see about that ;) **


	4. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3  
_**

Hayfield Park was a sight to see for the newly arrived guests. Tables covered in white linen, strewn with platters of dainty sandwiches and fruits. Ice sculptures glistened in the sunlight, somehow their forms still holding. In the midst of all this, other guests were gathered and mingling, chatting amicably with one another.

In their summer dresses of various colors and the new-fashioned feather plumes, they reminded Renesmee of a flock of colored, tropical birds.

One of them managed to detach and ran towards Renesmee.

Actually, with her petite body and her urgent feet, she almost looked liked she was flying. Renesmee couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"You better have a good reason for laughing at me, Renesmee!" Claire scolded as she approached her friend.

Renesmee managed to calm down quickly. "I'm sorry, Claire."

"Yes, well, everyone has been waiting," Claire informed. "Ever since they saw your father step out of his carriage..."

Sure enough, when both girls looked over at the scene, the duke was standing in a middle of ogling admirers exclaiming their shock, their joy over being honored by His Grace's presence.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Renesmee?" Claire asked. "They say it's a 'lucky' chance, but I don't..."

"Miss Cullen, would you care for something to drink?"

The reaction on Claire's face must've been priceless but Renesmee never saw, for she instantly turned her attention over to Mr. Hawkins.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Hawkins," Renesmee said, taking a glass of beverage from Mr. Hawkins.

"My apologies," Mr. Hawkins said to Claire. "I wasn't aware of your presence, Miss..."

"Young," Claire said. "Claire Young."

Mr. Hawkins smiled pleasantly at Claire's curtsy. "Pleasure, Miss Young."

"The pleasure is all my mind, Mr. Hawkins," Claire replied. "But where is your father? Surely the lord would enjoy a festivity such as this."

"My father is regrettably taken over with fatigue," Mr. Hawkins said.

Claire sighed sympathetically. "Please extend my well wishes to the lord." With that, she turned around to join some other friends...but not before sneaking Renesmee a meaningful smile.

Renesmee, on the other hand, was taking this time to a rather good look at the young man. Last night, the chandelier lights had emphasized his prominent cheekbones and his dark brown hair. The sunlight showed more detail. Now Renesmee could see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and his hair took a lighter brown sheen, while his face showed slight tan lines.

With Claire now gone, the two - Renesmee and Mr. Hawkins - were left standing side by side on the green field.

Renesmee fanned herself slowly and deliberately, keeping her attention off of Mr. Hawkins. This was one of the first tricks as a flirt - to make the man _earn _her attention.

But the silence continued, becoming more and more awkward as each minute passed. While the other guests would mingle, gossip, and laugh, Mr. Hawkins never said a word.

And Renesmee found herself unable to say one, either.

Strange, this was the first. Men were usually so eager to chat. And there had always been someone else around to help along. In the carriage, her aunt Alice had been the chatterbox, filling up the silence with compliments and stories of the parties she had gone to. And right when they arrived, Claire had been there to speak for them. But now that there was no third party, Renesmee felt strangely isolated.

Luckily, Mr. Hawkins finally spoke.

"The weather is pleasant," he said to Renesmee's relief. "Almost as if the skies are celebrating the luncheon themselves."

Renesmee's relief disappeared at this pathetic comment. What was Mr. Hawkins doing?

"Those birds are saying good morning," Mr. Hawkins continued.

Renesmee didn't know how to respond as she eyed Mr. Hawkins...she didn't know if she was _supposed _to respond.

Was this Mr. Hawkin's attempt to be..._poetic_?

But Mr. Hawkins wasn't finished. "But the sun doesn't compare to your beauty today, Miss Cullen." He smiled down at her, in what he probably thought was cheeky.

Dear God, but he was _terrible._

Renesmee looked away hurriedly, before Mr. Hawkins could see her failed attempt to hide her laugh.

In order to find a distraction, Renesmee forced herself to scan her surroundings again. She was desperately trying to find something - _anything_ - to distract her from Mr. Hawkin's comments about the skies. Really, it was getting pathetic. The glow of magnificence he had held last night and this morning was waning - and rather quickly, she must admit.

How sad that in just a few words, he would be out of the running.

Just then, her eyes were drawn to the ice sculpture of a swan. Its neck arched gracefully, its head bowed in obedience to the sun.

_Hmmm_...if Renesmee dared to point that out, would Mr. Hawkins attempt yet another failed try at sonnet imitations?

"Sherry, miss?"

Renesmee was so startled that she almost dropped the glass already in her hand, which she now realized _was _empty. Luckily, her companion didn't notice, seemingly distracted by tales of Lancelot.

The tray was held by a large hand, callused and tanned with strain of labor. The hand was attached to a large, muscular arm, which to broad shoulders. The shoulders were connected to a strong neck which in turn led to a face easy to recognize.

It was the gypsy servant of Mr. Hawkins himself.

But before Renesmee could snap at him for startling her - _really! _was he jinxing her into all sorts of embarassment today - she couldn't help but notice something in his eyes. Something that made her instantly forgiving.

Though his face was somber, his eyes were amused.

He was laughing also.

And it wasn't at Renesmee.

*.*.*.*.*

The moment Jacob heard his master try and woo the young girl with poetic license, he felt an instant pity for her.

Skies celebrating the luncheon? Birds singing good morning? As for the comparing the sun to the girl's beauty, well even _Jacob _had heard that cliche comment numerous times.

Really, just _what _was Master Hawkins trying to accomplish here?

But the girl's reaction surprised him most of all. This morning, Jacob had thought she was one of those simpering, mindless girls who held nothing in their heads other than the latest fashion plate and how to snare a husband. He had expected the young miss to show some awe, perhaps even be impressed by the master's droll words.

Instead the girl cleverly turned her head away and snapped her fan open, but not before Jacob could see her stifled laughter underneath.

So, the girl wasn't _entirely _emptyheaded.

Much more then he could say for the others, although that petite dark-haired one that had approached the couple earlier seemed a bit more promising. The others were more like tittering birds, knowing nothing but how to seem like little lambs. Some even eyed _him _with interest, although it was quite plain that Jacob was nothing but a mere servant. Then again, he had heard tales of such women: noble and pure by name only, looking for devilish excitement. And most of them found it by seducing young servant boys who were, by no means, obligated to be a gentleman.

And no doubt, compared to these pale skinny lads, Jacob would seem like those roguish, daredevil princes he had heard tales of when he was a child.

The thought itself made him laugh.

"Quit chuckling around, boy!" an old man snapped at him. "Here, take this tray and do something for once." He thrust a tray of sherry to Jacob and turned away without another word.

There was _one _disadvantage of his bloodline, if Jacob could say so himself. If his gypsy skin tend to make him stand out, even among the servants. While the lowest, such as the scullery and kitchen staff didn't mind, the ones with higher status seemed to consider him lowest of the low.

But Jacob just shrugged and made his way discreetly. He was used to such treatment and knew which ones would be safest to approach. He avoided the young girls and the old ladies, only coming up to old men who were distracted by their tales to actually see from whom they were taking the glass of sherry from.

"No star can compare to the very ones that sparkle in your eyes."

Jacob recognized that voice instantly. Apparently, the girl's lack of attention only made Master Hawkins want to impress her more.

He knew he shouldn't but curiosity got the best of Jacob and he made his way towards the two. Master Hawkins hardly noticed him, his attention secured solely by the young creature next to him. The young miss was eying her surroundings, obviously trying not to listen. At that moment, her eyes were held on a swan statue and, as a result, failed to notice the tray of sherry coming toward her.

Without a second though, Jacob held out the tray. "Sherry, miss?"

To say she was shocked would be an understatement. She almost dropped the glass of sherry she already had with a yelp, though not loud enough for Master Hawkins to notice. Now he was gesturing wildly towards the open fields, talking of whisking her away as Lancelot had done.

Jacob eyed the young girl's face once her eyes turned back to Jacob. At first, there was anger and for a second, Jacob expected her to slap him or at least snap at him for almost causing yet another accident.

Jacob, on the other hand, couldn't keep himself from smiling as the young master kept rambling on. Was he really that daft to not notice the young girl right next to him? Surely he couldn't be that enraptured in his own words of whisking Miss Renesmee off on a white horse as if she had suddenly transformed into a fairy tale Guinevere. Jacob wasn't and from the look on the young miss' face, she wasn't either.

The chagrin expression on the girl's face was immediately replaced by surprise, no doubt by the clear amusement on Jacob's face. For a second, he wondered if perhaps the girl though he was laughing at _her_.

Then she glanced at Mr. Hawkins...and a look of understanding came onto her face.

The smile was so quick that Jacob almost didn't see it.

But yet again, her fan wasn't quick enough.


End file.
